My Story
by Renflower21
Summary: Konan writes an account of her experience in her junior year of high school, and the man that changed her life. PeinxKonan, DeidaraxKonan, AU. Please R&R!
1. Prologue

I guess you could say that the hardest part of any story is finding the right words to start it off. These introductory words can make or break the tale that is about to unfold, scaling the greatness of what is about to be told. Will happiness come from it? Sadness? Is it even worth your valuable time? I don't want to waste the time that you could be spending on something much more worthy, so I'm going to come right out and tell you now. You're better off reading something else.

This isn't going to bring you warm, fuzzy happiness, and you aren't going to learn something deep and profound about yourself from my tale. Not, that is, unless you have a very twisted sense of pleasure. I know that there are people like that out there, and they could very well read this and laugh. I've met and dealt with many types of people. No one disgusts me as much as you guys who take pleasure in the pain of others. But isn't that the whole foundation of the human race? To hate that is to hate the very core of humanity. To hate that is to hate yourself, because that sadistic and twisted personality is somewhere deep inside everyone. I truly believe that, and haven't met anyone who has proven me otherwise.

What is this story about? Simply put, this is the account of a year in my life, the one that changed everything for me. It's the tale of my junior year in high school, back when I was the beautiful and successful girl that everyone admired. Back when I was the apple of all the teacher's eyes, and all the things that happened back then. It's taken me a while, but I finally feel strong enough to put down what happened on paper. I hope this courage lasts long enough for me to finish my tale. Putting it all into words is supposed to help me heal at least a little. And god knows I need to be able to shut these wounds at last. But even if it doesn't do anything for me, I want to be able to share it with someone else, for someone to listen and learn what I've been through. And most of all, I want to be able to reach out and maybe give this strength I've gained to someone else who needs it. If someone had done that for me, maybe I wouldn't have turned out as messed up as I did. But then again, maybe someone did offer me their strength, and I just wasn't listening.

Well, I guess I should stop prolonging this, because I know that you really don't want to hear much more of what I have to say. I'm probably just lucky that you haven't stopped reading completely. I wouldn't blame you if you did. But this is the end of the introduction, and the beginning of a new story. A new story that is also one that is old and told many times throughout the ages, with changing faces and names, but basically the same as all the others. The only difference is whether you escape or not. I guess that makes me one of the lucky ones, though I've never really viewed myself as such. It's hard to, after the unlucky events that steered my life in this direction. This is the story of many. But right now, this is only one person's story. This is _My Story_.


	2. That Day

What do you think of when you hear the word 'perfection'? What's the personification of the word that comes to mind for you? I've gotten many answers to that question these last few months, and have realized that the truth for many is quite simple, though it often goes unrealized. Perfection is anything that we wish we were or want most, anything better than us. I remember most of all a young girl who once told me that she envisioned a beautiful red rose as perfection, because it symbolized eternal love, which is also her dearest wish. But then, when you really think about it, can love ever be eternal? This is the question that repeated itself constantly in my head for the longest time, the answers varying within a wildly large range. I believe now that the answer is no, it is not possible. No matter how thinly you spread the fuel for the flame, it'll always disappear in time. The problem is that we simply don't live long enough to figure this out. We don't live long enough at all.

As I sit here writing about this, my mind goes back to who I was at the beginning of my junior year of high school. The word 'perfect' comes to mind again as I do. I know for certain that some saw me as perfect, as the girl who had everything. Did it make me happy? Back then, it did, yes. I see now that I was a shallow fool to feel that way. I was far from perfect, but my little masquerade went unnoticed by my peers. And, for that matter, by me. When I looked ahead to my future back then, I saw the glorious success that I was sure was held in store for me but a few steps ahead of my current position. So close to achievement, so close to perfection…that's what I thought anyways.

I used to check the mirror constantly before I left the house, making sure everything fell into place just perfectly. Every tiny lock of hair had to be placed perfectly with an almost compulsive need. My hair even back then was a light blue-purple, dyed by my aunt, who had gone into cosmetology as a career back when I was in junior high. I wore the most conservative clothes in the most outrageously fashionable way possible…the envy of all the girls in school. Make-up galore, I wore tons of it to cover up any tiny little imperfection on my face, until it looked exactly as I wanted. Or, more accurately, exactly as those magazine ad girls I now so despise looked. On the outside, I was modest and humble, while inside I was just absorbed in my own self-love. I wonder at times how many people I stepped on…how many people I hurt. It's best not to ponder things like that, though.

There's only one thing on the teenager girl's mind besides fashion, and that is the ever-popular topic of _men_. Not _boys_, not for me, but _men_. They were half the reason any of us even bothered with the make-up. That and to create the illusion of perfection to the other females in the school. It was the ultimate goal to be on the head of the gossip mill, not the unfortunate person who got stuck with what was churned out. I wasn't alone in making up lies to make myself look better, and sometimes that's comforting for me to know. Other times I'm wiser, and realize how foolish it is. I wasn't forced to do what I did, no matter how much it seemed so at the time. It was necessary, I told myself back then, and it was usually done over a man. No surprise there, not for those who understand the mindset I was once in.

For a man, I would gladly fight tooth and claw. I would without hesitation stab my best friend in the back with the knife that is desire. Not that it was necessary, of course. There was no one in the school I couldn't have._ No one._ The people I dated hardly lasted long, though. I became bored and tossed them away in…I think a month was my longest relationship. I can't even remember whom it was with, though. It didn't matter, though, because they were _boys_. I wanted more than anything a man, a real man. Someone with more maturity than the sex-obsessed little boys that hung around with me. I dated a lot of those. Was I ever called a slut for that? Oh yes, most definitely. Jealous little freaks, I used to think. I hadn't slept with any of those guys, not that they didn't insist on it. I wasn't that kind of girl, and I'm still not. It's almost ironic, in a way…because maybe if I had slept with one of them, I wouldn't have been so vulnerable to what was to come.

I remember the exact day that my entire life changed. No matter what anyone else says, _that _was the day. I even remember the outfit I was wearing, a black spaghetti-strap tank and skinny jeans. Two silver studs adorned each of my ears, and a black necklace with silver chains. Adorned by my feet were sleek black flats. Every detail still rings true in my mind, _that's _how important it was.

The event occurred right between seventh and eighth period during the early spring, and I was gathering my books at my locker for advanced math class. That was when I caught my first glimpse of true 'perfection'. That was when my perfect dream life began to turn into a nightmare. That was when my story began.


	3. Desire

Desire is a strong force, and many are taken down before it runs its course. Like a prevailing gale, it sweeps up not only you, but also those you interact with. A blinding power, its destruction isn't apparent until after it has passed. Perhaps that is what makes it so formidable. I'd never felt such strength before 'that day'. Before then, I'd believed so passionately that every small interest was a true desire, only for the magic to die away after he'd been obtained. It was foolish, I see now, to believe that such a petty feeling could be called by such a powerful name. It's not a rare occurrence, though. People have a tendency to over-dramatize things, and I know I certainly fell victim to it back then.

The instant my eyes laid down on him, the winds of desire began to pick up. They speak so often of 'love at first sight' in movies and novels; I was convinced for a long time that was the case. It was only for a minute or so that I held him in my sights, but it was enough to set off the great typhoon. He'd walked past my locker, not even sparing me a glance. Just like that, I was smitten.

What was it that set him apart from everyone else? When he'd walked by, the other students ceased to exist. His hair was a shocking orange, and unevenly placed. The locks of fiery ginger looked as if they were in dire need of a combing. A few spikes of it even fell in front of his face, though they were hardly a distraction. His features were so striking, that nothing could possibly take away from the magnificence of them. A multitude of metal was pierced into his perfect, pale complexion, but even that could not mask the beauty beneath. In fact, it just added to the exotic essence he so effortlessly exuded.

I remember how badly I wanted him to look at me, during that initial encounter. It was impossible not to notice his eyes, for they were definitely an oddity. I'd so often mocked those who had such defects, and yet the thought of doing so didn't even enter my mind as I stared at him. There were orbs within orbs, in a fascinating optic pattern. I fell under his spell immediately, like the entranced victim of a skilled hypnotist.

Clothes can usually tell a lot about a person. Or at least, that's what I used to think. I know now that people use clothes, most of the time, to mask their inner selves. This guy wore an ebony t-shirt, no graphics or wording on it, which exposed his strong-looking arms. His pants were also black, and well-fitting, with a silver-studded belt holding them up. He wore a necklace as well, one I almost never saw him without since that day. It's all so clear in my mind, partly because there was always such little variation in his clothing choices. I remember thinking that day, where's the collared shirt of the preps? The silver chains and dyed hair of the goths? The sports jersey of the jocks? The blatant band advertisement of the punks? Surely this guy must fit in _somewhere._

But perhaps the clothes were only an excuse for me. I think it was more the fact that he was so silent, so _detached_ that had me wondering what his place was. Perhaps I even felt sorry for him. To this day, I can't be sure why I fretted over his group placement. All I'm sure of is that he seemed so utterly, utterly alone.

And just like that, he was gone, leaving me with a thousand questionings. Above all, though, one inquiry prevailed, and so desperate was I for the answer.

_Who is he?_


End file.
